


red eyes and red blood

by serenaii



Category: Kagerou Project
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, everything is onesided, im an awful person, or someone dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenaii/pseuds/serenaii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only later, much later, once you have lost everything and gained everything in equal measure, when even life and death has already become interchangeable, do you realise that the silence was not death. It wasn't even an ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	red eyes and red blood

**Author's Note:**

> I received Mekakucity V's today, and before I could watch it a gripping urge struck my heart that I could not ignore. And so you find me here, two hours later, battling with the HTML formatting on this site and crying over sentence structure. I still have not removed the plastic packaging from the DVD.  
> Kagepro is, above all else, a series as interesting as it is confusing to newcomers. It's also a story that keeps it's secrets closely guarded. So while I could never do its characters justice, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this.  
> (It should be noted that I have not read the novels and might have possibly butchered up a certain scene. If all is well, read on)

When it happens, there's no convulsions of pain or desperate tears or life flashing by your eyes. There's only silence. It's a bit of a disappointment, really. 

     Only later, much later, once you have lost everything and gained everything in equal measure, when even life and death has already become interchangeable, do you realise that the silence was not death. It wasn't even an ending. And perhaps that was the worst thing.

     You open your eyes and see red.

 

Shintaro was brashness and frowns and prickly thorns lining his heart. He rarely cracked a smile, complained that life was insipid without ever doing anything to change it, and fought with Takane far too often. In fact, the two of them were way too similar (and perhaps that was why they fought). Like Shintaro, Takane was harsh and insensitive and kind and absolutely brilliant, but fate had dealt them their cards and unfair though it might have been she never stood a chance.  

    It's the small details that lead to the big picture, such as the day you find out Shintaro had a pet (a cute one) that he actually cared for enough to remember to feed everyday. Or the afternoon when he snaps at Ayano and storms off in irritation only to later offer, sheepishly, to share his umbrella with her as apology. Or the time when he reluctantly agreed to tutor Takane, and (after copious snarky insults and explosive arguments about conjugated verbs that bordered on physical assault) managed to help her scrape through the mid-terms.

     It happens one day, as you sit on the side of the court, watching kids pretending to be trying their best at dribbling a ball. You glance at him as he sits down beside you. You say hi. He grunts. 

     "Not joining?"

     "Suddenly came down with a horrible migraine. Searing pain. Blurry vision. It's awful."

     You hear his deadpan tone of voice and wonder if you're supposed to laugh. Instead, you grin playfully. "I'm sure the teachers were convinced."

     "The teachers are all idiots." Shintaro rolls his eyes and fiddles with a blade of grass he plucked from the ground. "You sick again?"

     Your smile falters a bit, and your eyes flicker downwards. "Yeah. I've been excused for the next few months. Doctor's letter. Well, it's not as if I'm not used to it," You laugh softly. "When it comes to this sort of thing, I guess I'm just really useless, huh?"

     Shintaro fiddles with the grass. He does not respond. 

     Before you can debate the merits of asking if you'd said something wrong, the bell rings shrilly. You stand up, gathering your books and preparing to leave, when he mutters something under his breath. You turn around to give him a questioning look, one eyebrow raised.

     He looks put out and partially embarrassed, as if he was not expecting to have to repeat it and was now thoroughly regretting his decisions. "I said," he mutters again, but this time you make the effort to listen. "That you're not useless. I mean, someone like you, who tries his hardest to live, that's...really admirable." He refuses to look at you in the eye. "And saying that you're useless is insulting to all the truly useless people out there. So yeah. Don't do it."

      You stare at him as he doggedly avoids your gaze, jumping up and escaping as soon as Ayano calls out to the both of them. You're still staring as he grabs her arm and pulls her away, ignoring her confused protests. And you're still staring, even when he has already disappeared from sight, until Takane slaps you hard on the back, yelling at you for missing class.   

     He refuses to talk to you again for the next two weeks. But in those two weeks, you fall in love. 

 

For as long as you live (and how long was that, really?) you do not tell him anything. This secret keeping business is not as bad as most people make it out to be, actually. Convenient and peaceful and painlessly devoid of rejection. 

     You are his friend, one of the three that he has, and one of the two that actually admitted to it, and you wouldn't let unrequited love change that. So you watch. You watch as he stumbles around grumpily and grows up a bit, but not because of you. You watch as he falls, but not for you. And you watch everyone, including you, fall for all the wrong people and for all the wrong reasons. Some leave behind blood. Some do not. There was no difference either way.

     So maybe you treasured every brush of his hand against yours, savoured the moments where he leaned in to read off your shoulder and you could smell the scent clinging to his hair. But he would never know and he would never need to, and you were content to watch. 

 

Perhaps you should've apologised to Takane, for always disappointing her when she deserved so much more. To Ayano, for wanting something that had always been hers. To Shintaro, for not being as admirable as he had thought you were.

     But now you have plastic tubes for lungs and amniotic fluid for air and there are no apologies here.

 

You dream a lot. Sometimes it's normal dreams, dreams that slip away from your mind as soon as you sit up in the morning. Sometimes it's strangely terrifying dreams, dreams about blood and shattered glass and mangled bodies on sidewalks. And sometimes it's peaceful dreams, dreams about sketchbooks and computer games and endearing scowls.  

     Sometimes it feels as if your whole life is a dream. You wake up with white hair and pink eyes and you are unable to recognise yourself in the mirror. You walk into that apartment and see the guy in the red jacket and the girl in his phone and you feel a strange pang in your heart. Then the fleeting moment goes away as quickly as it appears, and life returns to normal again.

 

That person is the only one, amongst all the others, who you would call a friend. And friendship is a strange concept so perhaps you should be grateful that you even have one. So although dying because of a yellow and black striped insect might be a fate worth bemoaning, it was for a friend. A friend who bought you negima and whose blood was probably 70% sugar and who you almost killed after a game of rock paper scissors.

     Said friend was currently leaning over you and calling you names. So much for gratitude. 

     "You-you complete and utter idiot! Why would you-" He's panicking, you can see it in his eyes, and it makes you want to smile, although you've never tried before.

     "It's fine, isn't it? Because we're friends."

     Shintaro's eyes are tearing up. Somewhere, something inside you is crying along with him.

     Later, evil will crawl out of your wounds and slip into their hearts as you watched helplessly, but right there and then you could not recognise those tears as guilt.

 

Happiness was a strange thing.  You were always a spectator, never the main character. You could watch happiness unfolding like origami and sketch it's essence in 2B pencil but in your heart you would only ever be content. Even so, you understood happiness. It was blood soaking through your hands and clothes as you watched without a trace of guilt; it was having a friend who would mourn over you; it was loving and having the opportunity to be loved back. Once, it was being alive.

     Now, there is a gun in your hand and blood on your fingers and you are not content, but more than anything else you would be happy to die.

 

You do not see colours. You see psychedelic outbursts, paint on walls and dye on clothes weakly trying to assert individuality. You see meaning and nonsense, regrets and hopes, new ideas and copied solutions. 

     When you see red, you do not see the colour. You see blood pumping through veins, oxygen and life stored in biconcave vessels; you see smiles and love and hope, but also tears and hatred and despair; you see heads held high and hearts sputtering to a stop, scarves fluttering in the wind and scissors breaking skin. 

     Red is the colour of a hero, but heroes don't always win.

 

The clock rewinds. You close your eyes and scream.


End file.
